


Cell Division

by Skitz_phenom



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, Gen, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-31
Updated: 2010-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-14 06:41:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skitz_phenom/pseuds/Skitz_phenom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Brigadier stops by Cambridge to share some news. Camaraderie with just a wee bit of UST.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cell Division

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Springkink on Livejournal - Fall '07 My Prompt: OCT 4 - Doctor Who, Liz Shaw/Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart: Friendly, one-off - "Should auld acquaintance be forgot..."
> 
> A/N: It’s been far too long since I’ve seen Spearhead from Space – and I can’t honestly remember how much Liz would know about the regeneration process. My apologies for any continuity errors, but I just wanted an excuse for the Brig to visit Liz. This takes place sometime after Planet of the Spiders. I hope I captured the spirit of the prompt.

Peering into the eyepiece of the microscope, Liz Shaw watched as a tiny, spheroid blob of red floating placidly against a field of clear fluid suddenly trembled, and a fissure began to work its way down the cell’s center. Deft fingers slowly rotated the fine adjustment knob to bring the process of cytokinesis into crystalline focus. The organism that she studied, contained in a smear on a slide of glass, divided six more times in the following twenty-two minutes and she glanced away from the oculars only long enough to jot down hurried notes to a journal in her neat, scientific shorthand.

It took a throb of pain, as the slight crick in her lower back developed into a full blown strain, to finally pull Liz away from the microscope. Even seated as she was, on one of the sturdy metal laboratory stools, couldn’t keep the ache of perpetual leaning over the scope at bay for long. She stood and stepped away from the table to press her hands to her hips while she arched backwards. As vertebrae realigned with protesting pops and snaps, they were overshadowed by the sound of masculine throat-clearing.

Straightening quickly, Liz turned to the door of the laboratory-cum-classroom to see a familiar figure leaning against the frame. “Brigadier!” she exclaimed in some surprise, a bit pink-cheeked at being caught in such a silly pose. “What are you doing here?”

Brigadier Alastair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart inclined his head slightly and gave a brief smile. “Hello, Miss Shaw. You’re looking well.” He was dressed just as he was the last time she’d seen him, in proper U.N.I.T. regalia, and looked just a bit tired around the eyes.

Liz gave a sort of scoff, exhaling noisily. “Well-enough for having spent the last ten hours in the lab, I suppose.” She tilted her head, staring curiously at the man in the doorway. “But that doesn’t answer the question, Brigadier. It’s been nearly three years.” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You’ve not come to try to recruit me again, have you? Because I’ll have you know that I’m quite happy in my position here at Cambridge.”

“No, it’s nothing like that, Miss Shaw.” He waved away the concern and then pushed himself off of the doorframe, and entered the room to take a seat at one of the lecture tables.

There was no mistaking the weariness in his heavy frame as he settled on the stool, and Liz felt a pang of concern stab at her much the same as the ache in her spine. She wanted to ask him if he’d actually come to see her. She wanted to ask; but already knew the answer. “It’s about the Doctor, isn’t it?” And if there was a slight taint of bitterness in her voice, well she wouldn’t apologize.

The Brigadier nodded. “Yes, it is.”

“Well what’s gone on with him then?” It had been quite awhile since she’d thought of the peculiar man with the silvery hair and the kind eyes. Well, that wasn’t quite true; she thought around him everyday – with each new hypothesis and each unusual specimen came small remembrances and reminders – but, she hadn’t really thought about _him_ in a long time. “Is he alright?”

At that, the Brigadier seemed to hesitate. “Well, it quite depends on how you define ‘alright’.”

Liz’s face scrunched up quizzically. “Well, what on Earth does that mean?”

He looked past her right shoulder as he explained. “The Doctor as you know him is… well, gone.”

“You mean he’s dead?” She asked with some trepidation, instantly guilty for the momentary ire she’d felt at knowing this man wasn’t there to see her, just for her.

“No.” He shook his head, but his face wasn’t as convincing of the negative. “No he’s not dead, but he’s not the same either.”

Sighing, Liz spread her hands in puzzlement. “Will you just explain what you mean? You’re skirting the truth here, I can tell.”

“He’s changed again, Liz. He’s still the Doctor, but he’s a completely different man.” When she looked as though she might argue for clarification, he hurried to add: “Remember the first time you met him?” She nodded, expression clearly saying ‘how could I not’. “There was quite a bit of confusion then regarding his identity. Well, it’s a process called ‘Regeneration’. Basically, the Doctor that we knew… well, he got radiation poisoning and it was killing him.” He gave a hearty sigh. “And to compensate, his body changed entirely. He is, literally, a new man.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I can’t explain it any better, Liz. You’re the scientist here.” He shrugged a trifle defensively. “He was the man we knew, and now he’s a different one. The first Doctor that I met wasn’t the one that you knew, and this new Doctor isn’t the one that you worked with. It took quite a while for me to understand just what that meant. It’s as if he’s the same man in a different body, yet a new man at the same time.”

“Oh. Well from a scientific perspective, that’s certainly fascinating.” Liz frowned. “But this ‘new’ Doctor isn’t looking to meet me, or rather, to see me again, is he?”

The Brigadier shook his head.

“I see. Well, why did you come here to tell me about this, then?”

“I’m not entirely sure.” He admitted with a dip of one shoulder. “I thought it was the right thing to do, I suppose. Perhaps it’s like notifying the next of kin, if you’ll allow the stretch.” He smiled, a fleeting expression. “The man you knew as the Doctor is gone, and I just thought it was right to tell you.”

Liz returned to her stool and sat in silence for a moment, contemplating just what the Brigadier had told her. It didn’t quite hurt that he’d showed up in her life again only because of the Doctor, but she supposed she couldn’t have expected anything else. She’d giving up hoping for anything else even well before she’d left U.N.I.T. to return to Cambridge. Finally she looked over at him and gave her own tight, firm grin and nod. “Well, perhaps we should have a drink to his memory then,” she suggested.

“A drink?” The Brigadier echoed.

“Yes.” Liz confirmed as she hopped up off the stool once again and after a bit of shuffling, retrieved a bottle of amber liquid, as well as two 250ml beakers.

The Brigadier raised a concerned brow. “Is it safe to drink anything that comes out of this place?” he asked, only half in jest. A broad sweep of his hand took in the whole of the room, hovering pointedly towards the tables laden with glassware and tubing and Bunsen burners and microscopes.

Pouring a good quantity into each of the makeshift tumblers, Liz replied good-naturedly: “Oh pish posh. The beakers are new from the cabinet and the scotch is old and is kept well-hidden behind an absolutely archaic text on early Organic Chemistry.”

She handed over one of the beakers and she couldn’t help but notice that she’d poured accurately to 150 milliliters. Ever the scientist. Holding the drink in one hand, the Brigadier waited while she retrieved her own and then hoisted his in a salute. “To old friends?”

Liz seemed to consider a moment, then nodded and mimicked the gesture. “To old friends,” she repeated, adding: “May they never be forgot.”

He downed his liquor in two quick swallows, while Liz merely sipped at hers. There was nothing left between them but silence. Looking over the rim of the beaker, she smiled. “Thank you for coming, Alastair. It was good to see you again.”

He stood, knowing he was dismissed, and set the empty glass down on the table. “You’re welcome, Miss Shaw. It was nice to see you again, as well.”

As he headed toward the door, she tried to think of something else to say, to keep him there a few minutes longer; perhaps even suggest that he stop by again when it wasn’t the Doctor who prompted the visit. What she settled on was a small sigh, and: “When you see the Doctor next, give him my best.”

Pausing in the doorway, the Brigadier nodded in a clipped, military manner, as if she’d just issued him an order. “I’ll do that, Miss Shaw.”

After he was gone, she swallowed down the last of the scotch to chase the bitter tang of regret. The bottle was hidden away once again behind a dusty tome and the beakers were set gently into a sink to be washed later. With a weary sigh, Liz returned to her familiar, welcoming, microscope where the parting of once linked entities into two complete separate and functional units could be explained away by science.


End file.
